Reckless Abandon
by CityLites
Summary: With the horror of Voldemort's second coming now years behind them, Hermione and the other heroes are well on their way to a normal life. But as she prepares for her first year as a Hogwarts professor, she's in for an unexpected and unwanted surprise.
1. Just a Job

Disclaimer: I do not own the settings/characters of the Harry Potter universe.

Hermione Granger walked purposefully to her bedroom on the upstairs landing of the small, but cozy townhouse. She looked around frantically for awhile, wondering how despite the absolutely meticulous care she took to keep the room organized, Ron seemed to drop it into utter disarray five minutes after entering it. Within a few minutes, she gave up. "_Accio keys_," she said to the silent room, and after a moment her key ring flew out from under a pile of freshly washed, but yet unfolded laundry on the bed.

She grabbed her purse from the dining room table and took a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror by the front door. Her hair was a mess, making it obvious the chaos of packing and paperwork her day had been thus far. She pulled a hat down over her unruly curls and stepped out into the unusually brisk August afternoon. Clutching her jacket tighter around her arms, Hermione walked the couple of blocks down the breezy London roads that took her to her most frequented of establishments, the Leaky Cauldron.

She pushed open the front door, and the tinkling bell alerted a lanky, redheaded man sitting at a table for two in the back corner. Ron Weasley looked up from his mug of steaming coffee and smiled brilliantly at his companion. He stood halfway from his chair to kiss Hermione on the forehead as she sat across from him and removed her coat and hat. A frazzled looking female barkeep arrived and demanded Hermione's order in a rushed voice. She ordered a glass of white wine before turning to Ron and clasping his hand across the table. "A little early for wine don't you think?" he asked her with a chuckle.

"Not after the day I've had," she answered with a sigh. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "I spent the entire day packing and filling out all of the legal releases for Hogwarts, as well as our tax returns and account balances. Thanks for the help with that, by the way," she said sarcastically, sitting up to give Ron a half frustrated, half affectionate glare.

"You know I've been up to my bloody eyeballs in work this week," he said, immediately defensive. Hermione felt slightly guilty, it was true that Ron was busier than usual at his post in the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry. For some reason these past months of summer had proved extremely popular for the use of both underage magic, and magic in the presence of muggles. "Just today I had to organize seven trials for underage magic use, seven!"

"Damn," Hermione offered, taking a sip of her wine after the waitress placed it hurriedly on the table before scurrying over to more newly arrived customers. "Any idea as to why people are feeling so lax about breaking the law?"

"Well Dad seems to think its just because there are more underage wizards now than ever before. Last term saw the biggest class of first years in Hogwarts history, twice what it was for us back in the day." Hermione thought this over with a groan, she was going to have her hands full this year. She hoped desperately that she was really cut out to be a Hogwarts professor, something she had positively idealized since age eleven.

"Oh, come on Hermione," Ron said, noticing her despondent expression and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're the smartest witch I've ever met. Not only are you going to be able to hack it just fine this year, but you are also going to be the best bloody history professor the world has ever seen."

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she looked up and met Ron's eyes. They were bright and encouraging, but also full of seriousness. If he believed in her, then surely she would be fine, right? "Well anyone will be an improvement over Professor Binns. At least I'm a living person..."

"Listen, you're going to be brilliant, and not because you have the advantage of a heartbeat over the last professor, but because you're intelligent, insightful, and a great teacher. Not to mention you will be without question the hottest professor to ever teach at Hogwarts..." Hermione felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Ron's since of humor never failed to lift her spirits. She leaned across the rickety little table and kissed him for a lingering moment. She pulled away and finished her glass of wine in one, impressive gulp. She stood and grabbed her coat and hat and donned them quickly, realizing how long this mid-afternoon drink had taken.

"I'm sure you have to be going back to the office, right?" she asked Ron, who was also standing to leave.

"Yeah," he replied with a yawn. "You off to shop for your supplies and such?"

"Yes, see you tonight." After a quick goodbye Hermione left through the back, heading for Diagon Alley, while Ron headed to the Ministry, his short-lived break now over.

Hermione bustled happily around Diagon Alley, noting with joy that the familiar stretch of marketplace was now completely back to normal since the end of the war, now almost four years ago. She could hardly believe that she was soon to be twenty-one years old. It seemed like only yesterday that she had been forced to mourn the loss of so many friends to Voldemort and his followers.

Following his downfall, life had slowly trickled to where it was then. Hermione had continued to study spells, ancient runes, and history (both muggle and magic) independently in order to be qualified to teach at the place she held most dear, Hogwarts. To her astonished happiness she had only last month passed the Hogwarts teaching examination, and had been awarded the posts of the Professor of History of Magic, and also the Gryffindor Head of House. Now as she bought her numerous quills, enchanted chalk, reference books, parchment, maps, ink, robes, office decorations... it was really happening, Hermione was living her dream. The three years spent slaving away as a lowly secretary for numerous ministerial bigshots were over, and she could not possibly have been happier.

When she got home later that evening she spent extra time cooking a good meal for Ron. They had lived together for six months now, and she really appreciated the fact that while she studied and worked her mediocre job making next to nothing, Ron had been there, happy to support her both financially and emotionally. She really and truly did love him, and she realized that after six months of living together if they still had not gotten into an earth-shattering row, this relationship was definitely going somewhere. She thought of her future with Ron often, and hoped that it would work out. She couldn't imagine not waking up to his obnoxious snores she had become so fond of over the years. She couldn't imagine not nursing him back to health after his many drunken quidditch accidents in the front yard with Harry when he and Ginny came over for dinner. She cherished every moment they had together, from their quiet meals together at their tiny kitchen table to their tender love-making next to the crackling fire.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of the lock turning in the front door. Ron came striding into the kitchen. He dropped his briefcase onto the table before yanking her away from the stove and into a tight hug. "Smells good," he said softly.

"It's french onion soup!" she replied cheerily.

"I was talking about you silly," he said with a wink. She slapped him playfully on the shoulder before ladling the hot soup into two bowls and serving them on the table which was already laid with two mugs of butterbeer.

After chatting idly about the rest of his day at work a look of concern seemed to settle over Ron's face, and Hermione noticed he had stopped eating. "What's the matter, soup bad?" she asked jokingly.

"No, it nothing," he replied, but Hermione could tell it was definitely something because he usally at least made some effort to laugh at her bad jokes. "Really, tell me what's got you down," she pressed worriedly.

"No, you'll only get angry," he said quietly, playing around with the soup spoon and refusing to meet her eyes. Immediately Hermione's mind shot to a thousand different mistakes Ron could have made. Losing the key to their vault at Gringotts again, breaking the bathroom sink again, stepping on and thus ruining one of her books or old records...again. "I promise not to get angry," she said warily, "you know you can tell me whatever it is."

He looked up at her for a moment and took a shakey breath. "It's this Hogwarts thing."

"What Hogwarts thing?" she asked, very taken aback. She was definitely not expecting Ron's mood swing to be the result of her new career.

"Well you're going to be there, sleeping there and staying there all term. I'm only going to see you some weekends and on holidays. What if something happens to... us?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but her voice was stuck in her throat. She had been having that exact concern for awhile now but was afraid to voice it to Ron, thinking he would tell her she was being foolish. "Well I am going to miss you of course," she said in a careful voice. "But nothing's going to 'happen' to us. You know full well that we have is special, I love you. Hogwarts can't change that. It's just a job."

Ron looked relieved and didn't mention it again, and Hermione was glad for it. She was already nervous enough. What she really needed was something calming and soothing, a hot bath or a massage...

As if coming to her rescue Ron said, "Oh, as a present to see you off I bought us tickets to see the symphony on Saturday night. I know how much you love it."

"I know how much _you_ hate it! I can't believe you did this for me thank you so much." Hermione was thrilled about the upcoming performance because after all, it was her one passion besides magic: music.

That night she laid awake long after Ron had already gone to sleep, reading and re-reading her already made lesson plans. Hermione's habit of early preparation had not died when she left school. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that she finally fell asleep, to dreams of the majestic castle that was soon to be her home and the beautiful music that was soon to grace her ears.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco sat down on the polished wood bench and felt palpable calm stretch itself through his entire body. He lifted his fingers to the keys, and with hardly any effort after all the years of tedious practice and dedication, his hands played flawlessy the concerto before him. His eyes skimmed over the notes as if they were plain English, and the power of the music filled the high-ceilinged room.

He was no longer there. The seat was not beneath him and his feet were not on the floor. Walls were not enclosing the space, because where he was there were no walls. Only air, pure and crisp and sweet. Only sound, haunting yet delicate and resplendent. When Draco played nothing else mattered. The music was like a tonic, freeing him from any ailments physical or mental. He felt a rapturous ecstasy that words failed-

"MALFOY! I WON'T ASK AGAIN, WHERE DID YOU PUT MY WAND?"

If there was one thing in the world that Draco hated, it was to be interrupted whilst playing. Gregory Goyle did not seem to be able to grasp this simple fact. His punishment was imminent. Draco stood and calmly closed the leatherbound book of sheet music. He walked into the kitchen of the large house he shared with his childhood friend, to find the tiresome idiot moving pots and pans out of his way in a senseless search for his wand, which was clearly sticking out of his back pocket.

Draco stepped forward and grabbed the wand from Goyle's pocket, before performing a standard Jelly Legs Jinx with it. Goyle collapsed on the floor, his legs a useless, wobbly mess. "I told you not to interrupt when I'm practicing," he said coldly, before turning on his heel and walking back towards the sitting room which housed his piano. "Why would you think that I would ever take your wand anyway, Goyle?" he added over his shoulder before sitting back on the bench again.

"Because you do things like this to me," Goyle replied miserably from his spot on the kitchen floor. Draco smirked to himself. He really didn't know how he lived with this fool. Sick and tired of his cold and lofty parents, he had decided last year that it was time to leave Malfoy Manor behind. The house, though still magnificent, had been raided by the Ministry after the war to ensure that the Malfoys spoke the truth when saying that they were changed people. Although nothing especially dangerous was found in the house, the bitter Ministry officials ransacked Draco's home of nearly all valuables, leaving the once wealthy pure bloods to live, much to Lucius and Narcissa's horror, off of money earned by working. They both now held rather ordinary jobs. Lucius was a clerk at Gringotts and Narcissa worked at an antique shop in Diagon Alley.

Goyle's family somehow managed to keep most of their fortune, which was why Draco selected him as a roommate. Draco was used to fine surroundings, and while studying music at the presitgious London School of the Arts for Witches and Wizards, he had been too busy to find a high enough paying job to support a house such as his on his own. Instead, he had been bartending nights at an upscale wizard restaurant near the Ministry, saving for a grand piano (his previous one having been taken from the manor following the war), as well as the supplies needed to set up a comfortable life once he started the job of his dreams: teaching music at Hogwarts.

Draco had reached both of these goals. He had demonstrated not only the musical talent needed to teach the eager Hogwarts students, but also the change of heart from his old behavior that made Headmaster McGonagall nervous. She trusted him enough to hire him after many irksome interviews. At last, he had the job.

The elegant grand piano he had always wanted was his, though far too big for this sitting room. He kept a modest upright piano, purchased from a pawn shop at home for practice. The grand piano was currently in storage, to be taken out the day before his departure to Hogwarts. This was also the day that he would perform as a special guest with the London Symphony Orchestra. As he was about to start practicing his solo piece, one of his favorites by Chopin, he heard a familiar and insistent knock upon the front door. He sighed in irritation as he rose once again from his coveted spot to answer.

He opened the door to find a stunning girl of about nineteen waiting expectantly on the stoop. Her wavy, strawberry blonde hair was a mess due to the recent rainshower, but her dark green eyes were emanating excitement nonetheless. "Only two days till your big show!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into his unsuspecting arms.

"Yes, I know," was Draco's only reply as he untangled himself from her embrace and walked to the kitchen. No chance of practicing then. Astoria Greengrass could talk to brick wall if bored enough.

Draco had met Astoria at school. When he was about to graduate at the top of his class, his piano and composition skill being unrivaled by anyone, she was just starting to study violin. She had gone to Hogwarts, but he had never noticed her there. At the School of the Arts however, he had been captivated by her long legs and scintillating smile, not to mention her musical ability. Astoria was good out of effort and practice, not natural talent, and she played for fun, not the sheer wonder and beauty of the music. Despite this they had hit it off immediately.

One year later and they were a couple like any other but Draco knew that something was missing. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was. Astoria made him laugh, the sex was great, she was intelligent enough, a pureblood, a knockout, and a fellow musician. But when Astoria touched him he was excited, not electrified. When she told him she loved him he responded with "I love you too," out of habit and obligation rather than meaning or compulsion.

He wasn't entirely sure why he stayed with her, but stay he did. He thought that this could be due in part to the fact that prior to the Dark Lord's demise his life had been lived as a lie, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. Draco had lived in fear of his family and his friends. So desperate for approval and love, that he ignored this fear, which turned to hate, hate that he channeled it into the Dark Lord's bidding. He was now a changed man, disgusted with his previous actions and attitudes, though admittedly still a bit cocky and conniving. Astoria loved him for who he was, he decided. That must be why she was standing in his kitchen, drinking his wine, stroking his arm, laughing at his jokes. Finding the approval and affection he had needed all along in her eyes, he stayed.

_But for how long, I wonder?_ he thought, watching her laugh animatedly as Goyle tried, and failed, to stand up. _How long can I find solace in a person like her?_ Their conversations were rather empty, consisting mostly of her inane gossip about their mutual friends (she had been a Slytherin as well.) She was rich, as he had been before the war, but with that came snobbery and laziness. She was a lot like him in some ways, but not the ways that mattered.

It was only a few more days until Draco departed for Hogwarts. He worried that the thrill and abandon of the refuge of his youth would cause him to forget Astoria and the little past they had created. His parents wanted him to propose to her, but Draco felt that would be a monumental mistake. He had plans. He wanted to travel, he wanted to learn, he wanted to feel and hear and taste and touch and see everything the world had to offer. Everything he had missed out on in the infectious fog that had shrouded his existence during the Dark Lord's era. He could not picture Astoria in these plans. Change may have come over him but he was still a selfish man, and he didn't know how much longer he could rationalize her presence in his life as a beneficial one. Frowning to himself he got up and went to wash out his own wine glass, hoping she would go home soon so that he could practice.

His wishes were in vain. A while later Goyle went off to bed, and within five minutes Astoria excused herself to the loo and returned in a tiny nightgown and slippers, smiling slyly at Draco as she laid herself down seductively on his couch. The sight of her there slowly lulled the aggravation out of him as he crossed the room to her place. She reached up lazily and he could smell the alcohol on her breath as he lowered his lips to hers. Being slightly intoxicated himself he decided he didn't mind. As Astoria deftly loosened and removed his tie before starting on the buttons of his shirt, Draco's troubling thoughts of only moments ago dissipated, and he allowed himself to be enfolded in her aggressive embrace.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

***A/N:** First real effort at this so be gentle in the reviews :) Please leave some though! Enjoy! =D


	2. Associates

The smattering of raindrops against her tiny kitchen window was distracting. Hermione looked up from that day's copy of the _Prophet_ to see that the grey of the sky had only darkened from the last time she looked. Her hopes of pleasant weather that evening were smashed with finality as a cacophonous clap of thunder shook the house. She rose from her chair and made her way lazily into the living room. She placed an antique opera record given to her by her father in the aging record player that she kept on a side table near the couch. The powerful music filled the room, the sounds of the storm now a forgotten annoyance. Hermione continued to read the paper, but found that it was more than noise that had her so distracted. Ron was late.

He should have been home from work half an hour ago, and Hermione was beginning to worry that they would be late for the performance that evening. She herself had been ready for well over an hour, nervous anticipation causing her to shower and dress with time to spare.

Hermione knew that Ron's job was important. She knew that his boss was hard on him, and that as long as there was work to be done Ron was expected to do it, whether or not six o'clock came and went. Another thing that she knew, was that _Ron knew_ how important this was to her, and if it mattered to him, the least he could do was come home in time to make it to the show. Irritated, she walked over to the window and glanced out into the rainy twilit street. Even if Ron arrived home right then, that would still only give them thirty minutes to get there and find their seats, not to mention Ron needed time to change into his tux and freshen up.

Fifteen minutes later, a sopping wet, delirious-looking Ron tumbled through the front door and into the sitting room where Hermione greeted him with cold eyes. "I'm so sorry, at work-"

"I don't really care to hear it, will you just get ready so we can go?" she cut him off abrubtly, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Right, be right back," Ron replied, walking up the stairs to their shared bathroom with a defeated frown.

After what felt like ages to Hermione, he came back down the stairs, looking surprisingly dapper in a charcoal grey tuxedo complete with silk bowtie. Despite her anger about his tardiness, she felt the excitement of a _real_date creeping up on her. It seemed like life didn't give them time to go out very often. She smiled in spite of herself as she grabbed hold of his arm to apparate.

After the uncomfortable sensation passed, Hermione looked around to see that they had appeared in a secluded alley about a block from the theater. Since both muggles and wizards played in the symphony, the large auditorium would be crowded with muggles, and apparating right in front of it would attract unwanted attention. Before they started walking, Ron took her hand and cleared his throat uneasily. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I really do apologize for ruining our night," he said quietly. Hermione didn't want to admit it to herself, but the night to some extent was ruined. The symphony had started fifteen minutes ago. They would be a disruption to other spectators when finding their seats in the darkness, and she wouldn't have time to buy a program. She looked up at the now completely dark and cloudy sky, a light drizzle still falling.

"It's alright, I'm really just glad to be going," she said in a brave attempt at cheerfulness.

"You look beautiful by the way," Ron said after taking her in for a moment. Hermione was wearing a simple black evening gown that fit her slender figure tightly from its strapless top, to its flowing bottom, which reached the ground. Her hair was up in an elegant bun, but some of her shorter curls had escaped, and were dancing around her eyes in the slight wind.

"Thanks," she replied, taking his arm as they started down the cobbled road."You don't look so bad yourself."

After walking the block to the theater, Ron presented their tickets to the attendant, who proceeded to show them the way through the dark and crowded aisles to their seats. They were quite high up, but Hermione didn't mind. She liked to have a full view of the entire orchestra, even if it meant being very far away. Right then they were playing a light and jaunty piece she didn't recognize, but enjoyed nonetheless. When it ended, she joined the rest of the audience in enthusiastic applause. The players then rearranged themselves a bit, making a large space in the front and center of the stage. The most enormous grand piano Hermione had ever seen was wheeled out into the spot, and the lights on the stage dimmed as many of the players left their places and exited. The curtains swung closed, the lights in the auditorium came on, and Hermione felt her annoyance return. It was already intermission, she could hardly believe that they were this late.

She turned to find Ron looking at her with a sheepish grin. "I could go get us some drinks," he offered in a low voice, clearly worried that she would snap at any moment. Hermione merely nodded and leaned back in her chair so that he could get by. She watched his retreating back as he descended the stairs and made his way toward the concession stands outside of the cavernous room. She turned her attention to the dark curtain, wishing she could see beyond it. Everything about the musicians fascinated her, from their delicate movements while playing to their routine warmup beforehand. She herself had never been musically inclined, but she did love to sing, and had been told on the rare occasions that she built the nerve to sing in front of others, that she was quite good.

_But singing isn't the same as playing an instrument_, Hermione thought to herself as the curtains parted again and the players seated themselves quietly, bringing clarinets to their lips and violins to their chins.

The lights on stage slowly brightened as Ron pushed past her and into his seat, handing her a cold soda. She took a sip before placing it in the cup holder to her right, focusing intently on the stage. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed entirely in black from head to foot was striding confidently toward the massive piano. He sat down just as the last of the auditorium's lights darkened. The string players had started a slow and tranquil piece, but Hermione was intrigued by the pianist. He had begun the piano's part, which was nothing extraordinary as of yet, but the way he executed the song was what had her staring. He was running his hands over the ivory as if the piano would be taken away from him at any given moment. Never had she seen anyone play with such a heady desire for the sound. It was as if he was caressing each key with gentle, knowing fingers.

Each new song brought Hermione a deeper fascination with the ardent pianist. The songs ranged from jolly rondos by Mozart to the doleful sonatas of Beethoven, each perfectly played by the entire orchestra. Close to what Hermione guessed must be the end of the performance the stage lights dimmed, all but one. A spotlight centered on the man at the piano as he started a solo piece, one of Hermione's personal favorites, "Nocturne in C Minor." Chopin. It was one of the most difficult songs that she knew of, not to mention one of the most mournful and moving. The man in black played it as easily as if it were a kindergarten level melody. The passion with which he played was astonishing, and by the end of the rather long piece, Hermione found that she was in tears at the sheer beauty of the music.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked her, looking alarmed.

"Of course I'm alright, that was amazing!" she sobbed, standing with the rest of the crowd to applaud the musicians as they rose from their chairs, clasped hands, and took a magnificent bow. Hermione thought that there was something familiar about the blonde-haired, pale pianist. He had an arrogant sort of swagger to his walk as he left the stage. "I wonder who he is," she murmured as she and Ron joined the throng of people climbing down the stairs and leaving the auditorium.

"Who?" he asked in confusion.

"The pianist," Hermione replied dreamily, her eyes taking one last glance at the now empty stage before she pushed through the door and into the lobby.

"No idea. I reckon his name's in the program though."

"Well I haven't got one of those, have I?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "They're sold out, we were too late to get one."

"I've already said I'm sorry," Ron replied stonily. He placed his hand on the small of Hermione's back and guided her out of the revolving glass doors and into the chilled and rainy night. "What does it matter who he is anyway?"

"I don't really know," she answered quietly. "Want to go grab a bite?"

"Sure," he said, draping an overcoat around Hermione's shivering shoulders as they stepped down the street towards a dimly lit restaurant.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco sat quietly at the bar, thinking what a strange relief it was to now be a customer rather than the tired bartender. His gin and tonic sat untouched and condensating on the little napkin before him, he found himself too preoccupied to drink. He turned around and scanned over the restaurant briefly, looking for a sheen of strawberry blonde hair peeking out through the crowd.

He felt bad for lying to Astoria, but he just needed some time to himself. He had told her that he was attending an after party strictly for players of the symphony, but really he just wanted to be rid of her endless chatter for a couple of hours. He had a lot on his mind.

Draco was worried about going back to Hogwarts, worried that the ghosts of his past would be there waiting to bring back unsettling memories of the war and his past life as a Death Eater. He looked down at his left arm and felt nauseated just knowing what lay hidden behind the long sleeves that he always wore now. When Voldemort had been destroyed at last, the Dark Mark had not faded from the arms of his followers, but had established itself there as a permanent reminder of their wrongdoings. He was not sure why this happened, but his shame hung like a cloud over his head every day, and he never revealed the scar in public, no matter what the circumstances.

He could do nothing but hope that the other members of Hogwarts staff that year would welcome him as an equal, and not shun him based on his past that was exactly that: a past. It was gone and was not coming back. He wished that more people would accept this, but he still got odd glances on the street at times. He cursed his appearance for being so similar to that of his father.

Draco removed a piece of parchment from the inside of his suit pocket and unfolded it on the bar to read. As he was reading, a light and hesitant tap was felt on his shoulder and a small but clear and determined voice said, "Pardon me sir, but are you not the brilliant pianist from the performance this evening?" He turned slowly on his stool and found himself facing a beautiful woman in a floor-length black gown, with her disheveled curls up in a loose bun.

He nodded to confirm that yes, he was indeed a _brilliant_ pianist, holding back a laugh as he realized who this was, Hermione Granger. The endlessly irritating mudblood-made-famous because of her companionship with Potter and the Weasel. Speaking of whom, Draco saw his familiarly annoying red head bobbing through the crowd to Hermione's side.

Granger's face, which had been beaming with adoration slowly dimmed to a revolted scowl. "_Malfoy_?" she questioned him in disbelief, her voice alarmingly loud. Her eyes were narrowed in consternation as she assessed his ebony suit, his flawless posture, realizing with disgust that there was no doubting who he was.

"Yes, Granger," Draco replied with a bored smile, "that is my name, as you have been aware for about ten years now."

"But I don't believe it! How is it possible that you could be so... so..."

"Talented? Debonair?" he finished for her, holding in a chuckle.

"Well, yes. You're... vile," she replied in a whisper.

Draco was immediately angered, he looked at Weasley to see that he was smirking but hung back a bit, obviously wanting to avoid confrontation with his former rival.

"Granger, that's no way to talk to an associate," he said smoothly, deciding politeness was the best way to handle the situation if he wanted acceptance at Hogwarts.

"Associate?" Weasley finally piped in, looking at Granger in confusion.

"I've no idea what you mean Malfoy," she replied coldly, her arms crossing over her chest as she took a step toward him. He could smell her perfume, light and flowery, reminding him unwillingly of springtime.

He handed her the parchment in his hands without reply. She began to read aloud, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Revised Staff Listing." She looked up at Draco, horrorstruck, her golden brown eyes wide. "Headmaster: Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration: Olive Timms, Defense Against the Dark Arts: Salem Smethwyk, Potions: Horace Slughorn, Herbology: Neville Longbottom, History of Magic: Hermione Granger, Charms: Padma Patil, Care of Magical Creatures: Rubeus Hagrid, Classical Music and Music Appreciation: Draco Malfoy-"

Granger did not continue on to read the Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Divination, or Arithmancy professors, she was far too shocked by the appearance of Draco's name on the roster. Her mouth hung slack and she looked at him in astonishment. Weasley was rattling on about how good it was that some of Granger's old schoolmates as well as old professors would be there, clearly trying to calm her down but she wasn't listening. She had now collected herself and was concentrating all of her focus on glaring forcefully at Draco.

"_You_ are going to teach at Hogwarts? A _supposedly_ reformed dark wizard, a spoiled brat of the now humbled Malfoys?" Granger's words stung only slightly, and Draco tried hard not to honor them with words of his own. Anger was boiling inside him, why did the mudblood think she could speak to him this way? But... he understood why she was upset. Hogwarts meant a lot to these prats. Perhaps even as much as it meant to him, and they deemed him unworthy to be a part of it. If he was going to have a successful year he needed to be the better person in this isntance.

He snatched the parchment from her startled hands and turned back to the bar, taking a long gulp of his drink. He set it back down a little harder than he had meant to and the glass sent a loud clang through the room. This seemed to bring Granger back to reality, because he could hear the rustling of her dress on the floor as she grabbed Weasley and stormed out of the restaurant.

After finishing his drink, Draco placed some money on the bar and walked out into the still rainy evening. Moving to an apparition point, he turned on the spot and vanished, reappearing outside his front door. He was happy to find upon entering the house, that Astoria was not there waiting for him, and Goyle was already asleep.

He took a hot shower and thought over the night. He didn't really care what Granger's opinion of him was, but he still hoped that this was no indication of what was to come this year. He was not returning to Hogwarts to make friends, but to make music. Still, it would only complicate things to face obstinance from his coworkers and students because of his questionable past.

After changing into his favorite night clothes, he got slowly into bed, feeling the soreness in his arms from hours of practicing and strenuous play during the performance. A pang of guilt for avoiding Astoria assaulted his mind. She had not, after all, actually done anything wrong. He promised himself he would have her to breakfast the next morning before departing for Hogwarts. He stretched and yawned, trying to relax and focus on the positives. Tomorrow, he would finally be going to a place that felt like home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

***A/N:** So what did you guys think? =) Believable encounter? Reviews welcome!


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